“Yeah, I called Sebastian while you were talking to the folks in the grocery store. They’re both terrified that their baby’s not coming home. We can’t let that happen.”

“We won’t.” Danny looked at the scars on his brother’s face. What would this job cost them? Would they add to the scars that they both already carried, or would it take a heavier toll?

17

Shadows played out like a puppet show above her head. The tent was big enough for half a dozen campers but Ghost sat alone, a gauze pad pressed to the seeping wound on her lower back. The pain was a low but annoying sting. The pain wasn’t the problem. She knew better than to leave even a minor wound open and untreated. The Yucatán jungle was unforgiving. Once the hotels of the coastal resorts were out of sight, nature took over with a savage vengeance. It pushed ever forward, a legion of thickly leaved branches, creepers and tendrils. In the four weeks since she had set up camp the encroaching green canopy had started to take over. She would have a go at it with her machete tomorrow.

Her lips puckered as she removed the gauze from above her belt-line. A constellation of bloody spots dappled the fabric. The wound was little more than a deep scratch, but it stung like crazy as she dabbed it again with the Bactine-soaked pad. The bugs would find it irresistible if she left it untended. She didn’t mean to get sick, unable to continue her path.

“Just a scratch. I’ve had worse,” she told herself. “Must have caught it on the wall when that dickhead body-slammed me.”

Outside, an animal emitted a harsh squawk. A spider monkey, maybe? Don’t see many of them anymore.

Satisfied that the wound on her back had finally stopped seeping, she tore open a square packet and pressed the adhesive sterile pad to her skin.

A quick glance at the clear plastic jerrycan showed it still held about eight of its ten-litre capacity. She twisted the cap open and after plucking several foil packets from her backpack, added the water purification tablets to the tepid liquid. She tightened the cap of the drum and gave the whole thing a vigorous shake.

Now that her first aid and water duties had been taken care of, she lay back on her sleeping bag and thought about the day’s events.

“Siddown, chile… tell your mama ’bout today’s happenins.” She smiled briefly as she heard her mother’s sing-song voice. Memories of homemade gumbo and jambalaya made her stomach rumble. Mama had always been a bit heavy with the Tabasco but that was okay. It gives a tingle on the tongue, not a kick in the pants.

As she opened a packet of trail mix, Ghost licked her lips in memory of the fat fingers of okra, plump shrimp and rich red bell peppers. The dried mixture of nuts, granola and fruit tasted like flecks of cardboard as she recalled her time at home. That seemed so long ago, almost unreal, like a life she had watched in an old movie.

She turned on her side and gazed at the various deadly items in her tent. Rope, knife, machete, pistol, Taser, shotgun and rifle all within arm’s reach. Dried food, water, wind-up radio, backpack and her boots. All utilitarian items, so different to the things she had treasured in her previous life.